


Rebels With A Heart

by BlackUnicorn



Series: Walking Into Love (With My Eyes Wide Open) [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angry Steve Rogers, Awkwardness, Barista Steve Rogers, Bullying, Coffee Shops, Coming Out, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Football Player Bucky Barnes, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Bucky Barnes, Light Angst, M/M, Minor body dysphoria, Misgendering, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Punk Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Will Fight You, Strangers to Friends, Tattooed Steve Rogers, Trans Steve Rogers, Transphobia, as always, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:55:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn
Summary: Steven Grant Rogers. The Epitome of Trouble. A skinny punk with a different hair colour every other week, permanently bruised knuckles, and a mouth to give any sailor a run for his money. Steve was angry, crass, unapologetic. He was whatever he wanted to be.James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. The Charmer. Champion of the football team, wet dream of every female being on campus. Smart and pretty and popular.





	Rebels With A Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a bit different from the rest of the series but I just couldn't help it...I love trans!skinny!Steve as an angry spitfire that don't take shit from no one. So...yeahh...enjoy.

Steven Grant Rogers. The Epitome of Trouble. A skinny punk with a different hair colour every other week, permanently bruised knuckles, and a mouth to give any sailor a run for his money. Steve was angry, crass, unapologetic. He was whatever he wanted to be.

That’s how people described him, and well…they weren’t wrong. Steve was well aware of the fact that he had made a name for himself that was known all across campus even though he was only three months into his freshman year. But seriously, it wasn’t Steve’s fault that some people were just assholes.

Not all of them of course.

There was Sam Wilson, Steve’s roommate.

There was Peggy Carter, one of the regulars at the coffee shop he worked at and a senior at New York City Shield University.

And then there were Wanda and Pietro Maximoff of course, his co – workers and kids of the owner.

It might not have seemed like a lot of friends, but it was definitely more than Steve had ever had in high school, and he was content, happy even. But then there were the others, of course, all the prejudiced, judgemental, narrow minded idiots that Steve just couldn’t seem to avoid. Speaking of which…

“Give it up, _Stephanie_. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Steve gritted his teeth at the name, trying not to wince at the pain as he got back up from the ground. Brock fucking Rumlow and his strike team of mindless goons…or one of them anyway. Robbins or Rollins or something like that. It’s not like Steve particularly cared.

“I can do this all day,” Steve spat out, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, and the two taller men laughed.

“You know,” Rumlow started cracking his knuckles, “I usually don’t hit girls but I always love making an exception for you,” he said before taking another swing. This time, Steve was a little bit more prepared and manged to dodge the fist, going in for a hit himself. He had the feeling like the punch was more painful for him than Rumlow but he didn’t care. He was _angry_.

A fist landed in his stomach and Steve doubled over, faintly hearing Rumlow’s voice, “Jack, do me a favour and hold the freak up, this is getting annoying.”

A strong pair of arms was slung around his body, hoisting him up, and Steve mentally steeled himself for the next punch –

“Hey!” in front of him, Rumlow whipped around, “The hell are you doin’?”

“Stay out of this, Barnes,” Rumlow snapped but didn’t turn back to Steve who was squinting at the blurry figure approaching them.

“Don’t think so, Rumlow,” Barnes answered, stopping in front of the other man, “Leave him alone.”

“What, you mean this perverted piece of shit?” he pointed at Steve who was trying his best to wriggle his way out of Jack’s hold, “She’s not worth it, Barnes.” And with that he turned back towards Steve and drew his fist back for another blow, except it never came. Without his glasses, Steve couldn’t actually see all that well what was happening but the sudden lack of arms around his torso had him fall to the ground, and there were grunts and curses and the sounds of breaking noses and grinding bones, followed by silence.

“You okay?” Barnes asked, crouching down to pick up Steve’s glasses and handing them to Steve.

“Fine,” he gritted out, “I didn’t need your help.”

“Didn’t look like that, pal.”

Steve looked up at the other guy and his blood started boiling once again, this time for completely different reasons, because Bucky fucking Barnes had no right to look at him like that, like he was concerned, like he cared. They didn’t exist in the same world – scratch that, they didn’t even exist in the same galaxy. Barnes with his perfect hair, and his perfect clothes, and his perfect face, that Steve was currently scowling at before spitting out a mouthful of blood, “I was perfectly fine on my own,” he replied stubbornly.

Barnes frowned, “Sure, whatever you say,” his eyes scanned Steve’s body, “Come one, let’s get you patched up.” He moved as if trying to help Steve walk who quickly took a step back.

“I can do that on my as well,” he snapped.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rogers. Your face is one giant bruise and I don’t even want to know what your ribs look like.”

Steve kept glaring, but Barnes didn’t look like he would change his mind and Steve was tired and dirty and his entire body ached.

“Fine.”

* * *

 

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. The Charmer. Champion of the football team, wet dream of every female being on campus. Smart and pretty and popular.

That’s what everyone said about him. That’s what Bucky wanted everyone to believe. 

Bucky had no idea why he had done it ( _except for the part where he really did_ ), but watching Steve stomp out of the alley now did things to him. Things he’d rather not think about.

Bucky still remembered the first time he had seen the guy. It had been the first day of term and Bucky had sat on the grass with his friends, talking and laughing, catching up on the stuff they had missed over the summer, and then Steve Rogers had walked by. Small and scrawny with ripped jeans and green hair and a confidence that was at least twice as big as his body. Bucky had been doomed ever since.

Okay, so maybe Bucky did know why he had done it, why he had walked into the alley after seeing Rumlow and Rollins follow Steve into it, why he had decided to defend Steve.

See, the things was, Bucky had everything anyone could ever ask for. His parents had enough money to pay for his college education, he was smart and good looking and popular. But that wasn’t all. There were things Bucky never allowed himself to speak of, secrets he barely thought about out of fear that someone might _see_. Late nights in dark rooms with sweaty bodies. Choked gasps and moans of strangers’ names he would never see again.

Ashamed.

Scared.

And then there was Steve Rogers, who wore the colours blue, pink and white like the pride flag that it was. Steve Rogers who stood up for everything he believed in, no matter how many bloody noses he got for it. Steve Rogers who was now opening the door to his room, watching Bucky warily.

“Come on, I’ll help you clean up. That cut on your brow looks nasty,” Bucky said, putting as much authority into his voice as possible. A mistake. Steve set his jaw and glared at him with a fire that made Bucky want to curl into himself. Surprisingly though, Steve kept quiet and instead entered the room and walked straight into the bathroom, retrieving a first – aid kit before sitting down on the lid of the toilet.

“Gotta take off your shirt, pal,” Steve shook his head, not meeting Bucky’s eyes and the brunette sighed, “Alright…alright.”

Bucky took a moment to look at Steve, really look at him. His jeans were ripped at the knees showing scraped, bloody skin underneath. His shirt was dirty, dried blood clinging to the collar. His right eye was swollen, his eyebrow sporting a gash. His blue hair sticking to his forehead. He looked beautiful. It wasn’t like Bucky had kept track of all the different hair colours Steve had had during the past three months ( _so far he had liked pink the best, closely followed by purple_ ) but the blue hair just…fit.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve suddenly spoke up and Bucky couldn’t help the faint blush on his cheeks.

“Shut up, asshole,” he muttered and maybe he was imagining it but the corners of Steve’s mouth twitched. Shaking his head to get his thoughts back on track, Bucky picked up the first – aid kit and crouched down to get to work.

* * *

 

Having Barnes take care of his wounds was…weird. He was gentle, doing his best not to hurt Steve and Steve fucking hated it. Hated the way he enjoyed the touch on his skin, hated the way Barnes was careful and caring and candid. Steve fucking hated that he didn’t hate it at all.

After Steve’s face and his hands and his knees, came his ribs. Steve still refused to take off his shirt and Barnes hadn’t asked again, simply lifted it enough to get a look at them and by the way he winced, Steve could only guess how bad it looked. Neither of them spoke.

“Honey I’m ho – oly shit! What the fuck man?!” Steve hadn’t heard the door open but suddenly Sam was there, gripping Barnes’ shoulder and pulling him back, “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Sam!” Steve cried out before his friend could do anything else, “It’s fine, Sam…he’s helping me.”

Sam froze, looking from Barnes who was lying on the bathroom floor, to Steve, and back to Barnes, “Oh.”

“Yeah…oh.”

“Well…sorry man,” Sam ran a hand over his face, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” Barnes replied and slowly got back into a sitting position, “He always come home like that?”

“Often enough,” Sam answered scanning Steve with attentive eyes, “Who was it this time?”

“Doesn’t ma –” Steve began but Barnes interrupted him, “Rumlow and Rollins.”

“Bastards.”

“Yeah…would have done a lot more damage if I hadn’t showed up.”

“You fought them off?” Sam asked. There was surprise in his voice, his eyes wide with confusion and…well…Steve couldn’t blame him. He pretty much felt the same.

Barnes nodded but didn’t say anything else.

An awkward silence settled over the room until Steve decided that he’d had enough, “Listen, Barnes, thanks for…well…this but I’ll manage from here. Also, if I need anything, Sam’ll help me,” he said, somehow unable to actually look at the older man.

“Bucky.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Bucky.”

Steve blinked. He was, of course, well aware of the guy’s name – nickname – whatever, but he was also under the impression that those things were reserved for friends and, well…they weren’t that. They weren’t friends.

“Sure,” he said anyway and watched as Barnes got up to his feet.

“Okay then…I’ll – uhm – I’ll see you around then, I guess,” the brunette muttered, a light blush on his cheeks before abruptly turning around and leaving the dorm room.

“That was weird. Was that weird? I feel like that was weird,” Sam broke the silence after a moment or two and Steve could only nod numbly.

It had been really weird.

* * *

 

By the time Bucky had made it the football pitch, he had managed to work himself into a state utter panic. The fact that he was late really wasn’t helping him with that and all his teammates staring at him as if he had grown a second head made it even worse.

“ _Dude_ ,” was Dum Dum’s way of greeting him, “Did you really broke Rumlow’s nose?”

Bucky groaned internally and shrugged, “Might’ve,” he muttered, “Why? He say something?”

“That’s one of putting it. He’s fucking livid.”

“He was bein’ a dick.” There, that was a good explanation, wasn’t it?

“Well…can’t argue with that,” Jim agreed, “So you really did bust out the Rogers kid?”

“Yeah…so?”

“Nothin’.”

Bucky really didn’t like the way his friends glanced at him and he had probably never been more grateful to see their team captain Peggy and Coach Phillips walk over the pitch towards them, “Gentlemen,” Peggy said, “Now that we’re all here, may we begin the training?”

Bucky had a shit load of respect for Peggy. She was strong, a strict no – bullshit attitude, and he had seen her sock a guy in the face that had gotten a little bit too handsy. She was also the only woman on the team which was probably anything but easy but she made it seem effortless.

After training Bucky went back to the apartment he was sharing with Dum Dum. They had been friends since forever, grown up side by side like brothers, shared a room during their first two years at college and were now renting a ratty, run – down flat in Brooklyn. Bucky loved it. Loved the simplicity of it. People always assumed that, because his parents had money, he would prefer a more ‘sophisticated’ lifestyle – a load of bullshit – Bucky had grown up not far from where he was living now, his mum working two jobs, his dad spending his days in the office. He had shared a room with Becca, had worn second hand clothes, had started his first job at fifteen to get some extra money. Then his dad had gotten promoted, they had moved to Florida, into a huge, fancy house with a garden and a housemaid. All things considered, Bucky was glad that he was back here, back where it had all begun.

“So…” Dum Dum fell into a chair at the kitchen table, a strange look on his face, “Rogers.”

“Give it a rest, Dugan,” Bucky groaned.

“Nope.”

Bucky seriously considered just getting up and going to his room, but that would just bring up more questions. Questions he was not ready to answer.

“I just think that he’s getting enough shit as it is without having all his bones broken by Rumlow and friends,” he replied eventually, his voice was defensive and snappy and he cringed internally. _Subtle Barnes, real subtle_ …

“Hey, I’m not judging you,” Dum Dum raised his hands in surrender, “In fact, I agree with you. Just surprised, ‘s all…” There was something in his voice, something calculating but at the same time amused and relieved. Bucky raised a single eyebrow at his friend, prompting him to continue, “You changed,” Dum Dum said eventually, “After Florida. You were different.” He didn’t elaborate and Bucky didn’t ask him to. He knew what he meant. As kids, Bucky and Dum Dum had gotten up to all kinds of nonsense, keeping their parents and teachers and all the neighbours on their toes. Now that he thought about it, they hadn’t been much different to what Steve was now. And then Florida had happened.

“Yeah well…I guess going to a rich ass private school will do that to ya,” Bucky muttered.

“Hmh…I guess it will.”

* * *

 

It was strange. He had never actually seen Barnes on campus but now, after the Incident, he saw him everywhere. Passing him on his way to his classes, sitting only a few yards away from him while eating his lunch, hearing his hushed voice in the library. It was like his entire being had been fine tuned to that one person, wherever he was he _knew_ when Barnes was there – whether he wanted to or not. And it wasn’t just him. Whenever he turned his gaze towards the brunet he was usually met by a pair of bright eyes, already watching him. Steve didn’t get it.

It felt like a joke and Steve just didn’t get the punchline – hell, maybe _he_ was the punchline…who even knew?

It felt like a secret between the two of them, something fragile and unspoken and exciting.

 

It was the last week of term, the last week before Christmas, and everyone was talking about going back home, going to see their families, going to have a grand old time…everyone except Steve. There was no home for him to go back to, no family to see, no time to be had.

Currently, Steve was standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror scolding at himself. He was pale, paler than usual, his ribs poking out under his skin, still lightly bruised. Steve hated his body. Hated how skinny it was, how weak, how useless. Hated the way he could see his bones. Hated the scars. Hated how it was all _wrong_. The only thing he liked, the only thing making him feel slightly better on most days, were the tattoos.

The New York skyline all around his left wrist, the tribals running along his right arm, the celtic knot between his shoulder blades with his mother’s name and the word ‘laoch’ written in black ink, the quote on his ribcage.

But even that, even the art covering his body, did nothing today. He wanted…he wanted to scream, wanted to smash the mirror, wanted to tear off his skin, wanted to hide away from the world and never come out again.

“Steve?” a tentative knock on the door tore him out of his thoughts, “You okay in there, man?”

“I’m fine, Sam,” he answered. It was a lie and Sam knew it. After three months of living together, three months of talking and sharing, three months of friendship, Sam knew.

“Come on, open the door.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Steve put on a pair of sweatpants and eyed his binder – he shouldn’t wear it, not with his lungs struggling even more than usual, not with his chest hurting the way it did due to his latest cold. He put on an undershirt, a t – shirt, and his favourite hoodie, relieved that it covered up the worst, and opened the door. Sam looked at him for a long moment, concern written all over his face, before lifting his arm and showing him a white plastic back, “Your favourite,” he said with a soft smile and walked over to his bed. Steve was glad that Sam didn’t try to talk, didn’t ask questions, but instead did everything to make Steve feel a little bit better.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled and sat down next to Sam, accepting the takeout box.

They ate side by side sitting cross – legged on Sam’s bad and Sam told him about his friend who shared the same weird bird obsession as Sam, “Clint’s great,” he told Steve, “I think you’d like him. He’s a bit insane, talks constant bullshit – not as much as Stark, mind you – but he’s also one of the kindest people I know…” Steve wasn’t really listening, simply enjoying the sound of Sam’s soothing voice and the taste of the food in his mouth. Thai. “…and Tony nearly pissed himself and – hey, hey Rogers,” Sam snapped his fingers a few times in front of Steve’s face, “Are you even listening?”

“No. Not really.”

“Oh man,” Sam ran his hand over his face, Steve noticed he always did that when he wasn’t sure of something, “That bad?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I’m not asking you to talk about, I’m asking you how you’re feeling. Although for the record: you really should. Talk about it, I mean. I’m studying psychology, I know this crap.”

“I feel like shit, Sam. Does that answer your question?” Steve snapped, his voice much louder than he had intended.

“Whoa, calm down, there’s no need to take it out on me. I’m just trying to be your friend,” Sam said calmly and for some messed – up reason that just Steve angrier because Sam was not supposed to stay calm, he was supposed to shout back, tell Steve that he was being an asshole, that he should just get over it…but of course Sam would never do that. He was too nice, too considerate, too perfect.

“’m sorry,” Steve muttered after a few deep breaths.

“It’s okay.”

Steve just shook his head and set down the box, “I’m gonna go to bed,” he informed his friend, “I have work tomorrow.” It was an excuse, nothing more, but Sam let him get away with it and Steve was grateful. “Thanks for the food.”

“Don’t mention it.”

* * *

 

It had been a full week since Bucky had pulled Steve from the alley. A full week of watching the punk from a distance ( _no, he was not pining, thank you very much_ ). A full week of trying to get his head back on straight ( _fucking hilarious, no? No._ ).

Peggy had told about this coffee shop, had said that it had “the best coffee in Brooklyn, you must try it, James” and Bucky had nothing much to do, so he took her advice. It was a nice coffee shop. Very modern, artsy and a bit hipstery, the walls covered in bookshelves and weird paintings, the furniture a hodgepodge of mismatched armchairs and couches. It was nice. Strange but nice. And there was Steve Rogers because, of course, he would work at a place like this. Steve looked…not good. There were dark bags under his eyes, his nose was red and his lips chapped and dry, and he looked tired.

“What can I get you?” he asked, his voice forcefully cheerful, his lips imitating a bright smile, and then he raised his eyes and looked at Bucky and there was something in his eyes, something like defeat, like surrender, something Bucky really didn’t like to see.

“I heard you guys make the best coffee in Brooklyn,” Bucky said hoping that his voice sounded calmer than he felt, “Why don’t you surprise me?”

Steve blinked, his face completely expressionless, as if he was unable to process the words before letting out the faintest of sighs, “What do you want, Barnes?” he asked so quietly that Bucky nearly didn’t hear him and it was clear that they were no longer talking about coffee.

“I’m just here to have a drink. I didn’t even know you work here.”

“Then you’re the only one. Everyone knows where Steve Rogers works,” his lips twisted into a wry smile, “Take a seat. I’ll bring something over.”

Bucky did as he was told and chose a table in the far corner. The shop was mostly empty except for a few first year students who kept throwing glances at Steve as he prepared Bucky’s drink and suddenly the meaning of Steve’s words hit him like a punch in the face.

_Everyone knows where Steve Rogers works._

It made him angry that some people would just come here to give him a hard time, to stare at him, talk about him behind his back.

Steve approached his table with a steaming, huge, mug and another tight smile.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, “How are your ribs?”

Obviously surprised by his question, Steve stared at Bucky for a moment before shrugging, “I’ve had worse.”

“Not what I asked.”

“They’re fine, Barnes,” Steve snapped.

“Thought I told you to call me Bucky,” Bucky replied with a smirk. He wasn’t really worried by Steve’s bad mood because at least he was _talking_ to him.

“Your friends call you Bucky. We’re not friends.”

And with that Steve turned around and stalked back to the counter while Bucky pretended that he was not be hurt by that jab.

_Jesus, Barnes, you’re supposed to be a grown ass man, not an angsty teenager._

* * *

 

Steve kept watching the brunet from the corner of his eye as he sipped at his coffee – a honey and cinnamon latte – and not – so – subtly stared at Steve. He didn’t get it. Barnes was being nice to him for no apparent reason and that…well…that just didn’t happen.

When Barnes had finished his coffee, Steve could see him pull out a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling something down before folding the paper and slipping it under the empty mug, before he stood up and left without sparing Steve another glance and…was he blushing? Giving in to his curiosity, Steve walked over to the table to collect the mug and pick up the note. His name was written on the outside. Steve unfolded the paper and nearly dropped the mug. There was a phone number written on the inside in clear, black figures, followed by a ‘maybe I want us to be.’

It took Steve a moment to figure out what Barnes could possibly mean by that.

_Maybe I want us to be._

_Thought I told you to call me Bucky_

_Maybe I want us to be_

_Your friends call you Bucky. We’re not friends_

_Maybe I want us to be_

“What the hell?”

It felt like a joke, like something someone would do to humiliate Steve, except…that didn’t seem like something Barnes would do. Not really. In fact, Steve was pretty sure that it was the other way around, that it was a way for him to humiliate Barnes…if he wanted to. Except he didn’t. Barnes – _Bucky?_ – Bucky showed him trust with this, gave him power.

A loud clatter behind Steve’s back brought him back to reality and he remembered that he was supposed to be working. Setting his jaw in determination, Steve pulled out his phone and sent Bucky a text.

 

**9:56 to: Bucky**

**Why?**

* * *

 

_9:56 from: unknown_

_Why?_

 

Bucky’s heart jumped at the text. It had been a rash decision, giving Steve his phone number, and somehow it hadn’t felt like a decision at all, more like something inevitable, something that had had to happen.

 

**10:00 to: Steve**

**You need someone to cover your six in a fight**

 

Bucky answered after a long moment of hesitation. He couldn’t exactly give the real reason, could he? That he had had a creepy obsession for three months now and had only just grown the balls to maybe do something about it…

 

_10:00 from: Steve_

_Fuck you Barnes_

 

Bucky barked out a laugh. That – that right there was so… _Steve_.

 

**10:00 to: Steve**

**At least buy me dinner first ; )**

 

_10:02 from: Steve_

_…_

 

_10:05 from: Steve_

_What_

 

**10:05 to: Steve**

**Too much?**

 

Bucky cringed. His brain to mouth filter – or in this case his brain to hand filter – had sometimes the habit of going on vacation without giving any warning and…well…nothing good ever came from that.

 

_10:06 from: Steve_

_Anyone ever tell you you’re a fucking jerk?_

 

Bucky let out a breathy laugh.

_Don’t I know it…_

 

**10:06 to: Steve**

**Not really. No**

 

_10:06 from Steve_

_Well now you know_

* * *

**10:06 to Bucky**

**Well now you know**

 

Steve was Confused, with a capital C.

_What the hell is happening?_

Steve found it incredibly hard to actually concentrate on the coffee he was supposed to make, his thoughts always circling back to the text messages. And back. And back. And back.

_Why is he even talking to me?_

So, yeah, Steve was Confused. Bucky confused him. A lot.

He was glad when his shift was over, tired, exhausted. All Steve wanted to do right now was go back to his bad and huddle up under a pile of blankets – except when he got to his room, it wasn’t empty. Quite the contrary actually.

“Steve!” Sam called out as soon as Steve had walked through the door, “My man!”

Steve blinked at the scene in front of him. There was Sam, alright, sitting on his bed next to a red headed woman in skin tight jeans and a grey sweatshirt. On the chair sat a guy with dirty blonde hair and ridiculously build arms, and on _Steve’s_ bed was a guy with dark hair, glasses and clothes that looked more expensive than all the things Steve possessed put together. He blinked again.

“Hello Sam,” he said flatly, staring at the man on his bed who didn’t even seem to notice.

“Steve, these are my friends: Natasha, Clint and Tony. Guys, this is Steve,” Sam announced proudly.

“Yeah, we kind of figured,” the guy called Clint muttered.

“So, you’re the famous Steve Rogers, eh? The Captain of the NYCSU Gossip Mile? I’m slightly disappointed…the stories make you out bigger than you are,” the asshole on Steve bed – Tony – added.

“Right? He’s fucking tiny!”

And that was it.

_I can’t deal with this shit right now._

“Sam would you mind going somewhere else? I’m kinda tired…” Steve turned towards his roommate, who at least had the decency to look like he was sorry.

“Sure man, sorry, I should have realised –“ he began but Steve cut him off, “It’s fine.” Even though it wasn’t.

“Come on guys, let’s go, give the man some space.”

“Oh come on!” Clint whined and Natasha, who hadn’t done anything so far except stare at Steve was slightly disconcerting, said, “Move your ass, Barton,” without once taking her eyes off Steve or even blinking. There was a faint accent in her voice, something that sounded like Russian.

_Huh…_

 Barton – Clint – jumped to his feet as if the chair had suddenly electrocuted him and Natasha’s lips curled up into a smile that was both satisfied and amused.

Steve turned his attention towards Tony who had not moved an inch, “Do you mind?” Steve asked as polite as possible. The last thing he needed right now was another fight. In his own room. With the friends of his roommate.

“Oh I’m sorry!” Tony cried out, “Is this your bed? I hadn’t realised.” He finally stood up, a smirk on his face, and Steve had the sudden urge to punch him. _Asshole_ , he thought. He didn’t punch him, but it was a close call.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asked quietly when his friends had left the room.

“Sure,” Steve answered, not looking at the other man.

“Wilson! You coming or what?” Natasha called from the hallway.

“Just a second!” Sam answered before turning back to Steve, “Look, man, I’m sorry for this. I forgot when you’d be back from work and I should have known that you might want to be alone.”

“It’s fine, Sam. Really. _I’m_ fine. Just tired,” Steve muttered, the sudden fatigue rolling over him, lulling him in.

“Alright. Well…if you need anything, just…just call me okay?”

“Sure.”

And then, _finally_ , he was alone. The door closed with a soft _click_ and Steve was left with nothing but the slight pounding of his head and the wheezing sound of his lungs and the dull ache in his joints.

He fell asleep thinking of bright eyes and dark hair.

* * *

 

Listen, Bucky loved Christmas. It was that time of the year where you could spent more time with your family, where you didn’t need an excuse to eat so much food you actually felt sick afterwards, where you could just laze around all day with a blanket over your shoulders and a cup of hot chocolate in your hands, where you could prank your sister ( _or maybe that was just him_ ) and get away with it because it, after all, the time of love and family. So, yeah, Bucky loved Christmas.

Except this one.

His parents had announced that they were going to fucking Australia, which meant Becca would stay with her best friend Haley, which meant _Bucky_ would stay in New York. On his own. Because, of course, all his friends were going back home for the holidays. Not that he was bitter about that or anything. Not at all.

So here he was, on his first day of Christmas break, back in the coffee shop. He had been there a lot lately ( _read: every day_ ), telling himself that the only reason for that was because the coffee was just that good ( _it really wasn’t_ ), and pretending not to be disappointed when Steve wasn’t there ( _okay, maybe he was a little, so? Sue him…_ ).

It was fucking ridiculous, that’s what it was.

He had also somehow managed to find Steve in the middle of another fight – some hooligans who had apparently been demonstrating in front of the abortion clinic ( _“They got no right to say anything. It’s the women’s choice.”_ ) – and dutifully walked him home with only minimal protest on Steve’s side. It was progress.

“Y’know if you keep showing up here, I might think you’re following me,” Steve said as he set down the drink in front of Bucky. It was a different one every time.

Bucky chuckled, “ _Are_ you?”

“Are _you_?” Steve shot back, one eyebrow arched.

_Touché_

“Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

And okay, that felt a lot like flirting… _what the hell?_

“You going back to your family over Christmas?” Bucky asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Nah. You?”

“Nah.”

There was a story there, Bucky was sure. The sadness in Steve’s eyes, the way his face shut down. But it wasn’t his place to ask.

“My folks is going to Australia,” Bucky added without even meaning to.

“Without you?” Steve asked surprised.

“Yeah…I mean, they deserve it, but…kinda sucks for me and my sis,” Bucky shrugged and sipped at his drink. Peppermint hot chocolate. “Becca’s still Florida, stayin’ with a friend.”

“How old is she?”

“16.” Steve nodded. There wasn’t much to say to that, Bucky knew, but he desperately wanted to keep the conversation going, afraid that this might be the only chance he’d get, “Smartest girl I know, never gets into trouble. I’m tellin’ ya she’ll run for president one day.”

There was something in Steve’s eyes, something soft, something gentle, as he looked down on Bucky. His hair was silver today, making his skin look a little bit darker, a little bit healthier. Steve opened his mouth as if to say something but was interrupted by one of his co – workers, Wanda, “Get back here, Rogers! You can flirt when you’re shift’s done!”

A few people turned their heads to look at them (and wasn’t that just rude?) and Steve blushed, “Sorry…” he muttered.

“’s okay,” Bucky replied, “When _is_ your shift done?”

Steve blinked, obviously not expecting the question, “Er…half an hour,” he answered eventually.

“Wanna get something to eat with me?” Bucky blurted out and _goddammit, fucking fuck, verbal filter Barnes. Verbal filter._

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay,” Steve smiled at him, really smiled, and now it was Bucky’s turn to blush and cast his eyes down at the hot chocolate in front of him. It was good chocolate. When he looked up again, Steve was long gone, back behind the counter, and for the next thirty minutes he did not once look at Bucky.

* * *

 

Steve was freaking out. Not in the bad way…probably…just in the _what the fuck is happening, how is this even my life_ – kind of way. Bucky fricking Barnes had asked him to get food with him, and here Steve was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It hadn’t, so far. After the longest thirty minutes of Steve’s life, he had gone back to Bucky’s table and the brunet had grinned at him and asked, “What’s your opinion on burritos?” and, well…all Steve had been able to do was grin right back.

Steve was a bit surprised when Bucky led him to a small burrito place a few blocks away, it wasn’t usually a place you knew about when you hadn’t grown up in the neighbourhood.

“I have, actually,” Bucky said when Steve voiced his thoughts, “I grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” which, okay, wasn’t exactly a surprise since there were loads of things he didn’t know about Bucky.

“Most people don’t,” Bucky shrugged and ordered his food, “Well, Dum Dum does, obviously.”

“Dum Dum?”

“Yeah, my roommate and best friend. We grew up together, got into all kinds of shit,” he chuckled and then added, “Though I’d imagine that that was nothing compared to you.”

“Wha’s that supposed to mean?” Steve grumbled but he wasn’t really upset.

“Come on, Rogers, you’re the definition of trouble,” Bucky laughed and Steve had to fight back the urge to join in, “Am not.”

“Are too. Fucking spitfire of compressed rage and authority issues.”

And that was it, Steve just couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, almost choking on a pinto bean and sending himself into a minor asthma attack.

“Shit, you okay?” Bucky asked. Steve hadn’t even noticed him moving but he must have because now he was sitting right next to Steve, rubbing his back and looking at him with concern written all over his face.

“I’m okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

* * *

 

After that, it was easy. Meeting up with Steve, talking to him, texting him. It felt natural.  Bucky told him more about his childhood, about how they had never had enough money, how Bucky and Dum Dum had always snitched candy from stores and sometimes shared them with Becca, how his dad had gotten the job in Florida, about how he had hated it at first, the money, the pretentiousness, the shallowness. And in return Steve opened up to him.

“Ma died a year ago,” he had said, “Cancer.”

He had said, “She was all the family I had left. I never met my dad.”

“I just miss her, y’know? Christmas use to be the best time of the year. She’d always take extra shifts in November and December, so she could take a few days off over Christmas and we’d bake cookies together and she’d make the best turkey in all of Brooklyn.”

He spoke about growing up sick all the time, about being bullied in school, about still being bullied.

“People don’t get. They think it’s a choice, that I want to be this way, that I do it for the attention, or whatever…I don’t. I hate it. If I could be different…if there was any way for me to fit in…”

And it wasn’t like Bucky _understood_ – there was no way for him to actually understand what Steve was feeling – but at least he could try. At least he could be a good friend…because that’s what they were now…friends.

* * *

 

It was Christmas Eve and Bucky had invited Steve over to his apartment for a few days which was, my all means, better than spending them alone in his empty dorm room since Sam had gone back to D.C.. They had spent the night eating pizza and watching Love Actually and Steve found himself relaxing more and more as the credits began to roll over the screen. Bucky was half asleep next to him, half lying – half sitting on the couch, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and one of those hideous Christmas sweaters. He looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful. Lately, Steve had more and more started thinking about _what could have been_.

What if they had met earlier?

What if they had become friends years ago?

What if, what if, what if…

It was no use, of course. They _hadn’t_ met earlier and they _hadn’t_ become friends years ago. But they were now, and Steve really hoped that they could stay that way, that Bucky would stay. With him.

“Wha’re you starin’ a’?” Bucky slurred into the couch cushions, cracking one eye open to look at Steve.

“An incredibly ugly mug,” Steve answered, trying and failing not to smile.

“Your mug is ugly...” Bucky grumbled and yawned. Loudly.

“I think it’s past your bedtime, Barnes,” Steve told him bemused.

“Fuck off,” a beat, then, “You’re stayin’ right? You can take my bed. Or Dum Dum’s, though I’m not vouching for the cleanliness of his sheets.”

“Eww, thanks but no thanks. I’ll take the couch.”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll sleep here, you take my bed.”

“Are you vouching for the cleanliness of _your_ sheets?” Steve asked with a grin.

“You know what, Rogers…” Steve never heard the end of that sentence because he had to laugh and then Bucky was laughing with him and it took a full five minutes for them to calm down and Steve had to take a few wheezing breaths, trying not to get another asthma attack.

“You got your inhaler?” Bucky asked, the concern right back on his face and _, this was not supposed to happen…_ because in between sending weird, awkward text messages, and serving coffee, and eating burritos, and watching cheesy rom – coms, Steve had fallen fast and hard but only now did he realise exactly how deep. _Fuck_.

They ended up sharing the bed, which wasn’t as bad as Steve ad imagined. It was a large bed and they both bore t – shirts and sweatpants and Steve was tired and he fell asleep to the steady sound of Bucky’s breathing.

* * *

 

Bucky woke up to his ringtone blaring obnoxiously loud into his ear. Groaning, he blindly groped the bed in the hope of finding his phone. It was way too early for this shit.

“Huh?” he grunted into the speaker when he had finally found the device.

“ _And a merry Christmas to you too, brother dear_ ,” Becca chirped and _why the hell does she sound so cheerful_? Bucky rolled back onto his back and became suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was not alone.

“Buck’” Steve muttered still half asleep.

“Gimme a sec,” he whispered and carefully climbed out of the bed, shivering at the cold.

“ _Ohmygooood, do you have a girl in your bed?_ ” Becca all but screamed and Bucky actually had to hold the phone away from his ear, “ _Did you sleep with her?_ ”

“Oh my – Becca!? You’re not even supposed to know what that means.”

“ _I’m sixteen, Bucky, I know what sex is_.”

“No you don’t,” Bucky shook his head in sheer denial because his little sis and sex were things he never wanted to think of in the same context ever again, “Anyway, merry Christmas. Now, is there any reason why you’re calling me at ass o’ clock in the morning?”

“ _It’s 10 a.m_.” Becca answered flatly and Bucky could practically see her rolling her eyes.

“My point exactly. Too fucking early.”

“ _You are such a baby. Now tell me about your girlfriend_.”

“No girlfriend,” Bucky grumbled and started the coffee machined.

“ _The girl you spent the night with, then_.”

“Why are you so invested in my love life? That’s mum’s job.”

“ _And she’s not here so I have to take over. Now, spill_.” And that…well, that just wasn’t fair because that had sounded _exactly_ like Winifred Barnes when she once again decided to pester Bucky about his relationship status.

“I hate you.”

“ _You love me. Don’t change the subject_.”

“There is no girl, okay?” Bucky replied, slightly annoyed at himself. Why couldn’t he just say that he’d had a friend sleeping over? “Just a friend.” There, he said it, was that so difficult?

“ _Ohh, just a friend…_ ”

“Look, Becca, can we not do this right now?” Bucky asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee before retreating to the couch.

“ _Okay…something’s wrong…are you okay?_ ” And of course she would notice, because no matter how much they bickered and fought, in the end they were one and the same person, in the end it had been Bucky who had taught Becca how to ride a bike, how to throw a punch, how to play piano, it had been Bucky who had held Becca through her first heartbreak merely a year ago, and now it would be Becca who noticed that Bucky had a secret. They knew each other, had always known each other.

“There is no girl,” he repeated, hoping that Becca would understand while also praying that she wouldn’t.

“ _Yeah so you – oh_ ,” but of course she understood. She always did, “ _Ohhh_.”

“Becca…”

“ _No, no it’s fine, it’s just…you never said_.”

“I know.”

“ _So…is he your boyfriend_?” Bucky flinched slightly at the word, not quite ready to talk about…that…

“No,” he shook his head, “No he isn’t”

“ _But you wish he was_ ,” her voice was back to teasing and Bucky rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Maybe, I – I just really like him, y’know. He’s…different…” There was really no better word for it. Steve was different. Period.

“ _What’s his name?_ ”

“Steve.” There was sharp hiss from behind his back and Bucky whipped around, staring wide – eyed at the small man with the silver hair. Fuck. “Listen, Becca, I gotta call you back, okay?” he pressed out, is hands suddenly shaking. He ended the call before his sister even got the chance to say anything else. Steve just stood there, skinny and beautiful, his glasses askew, his tattoos bringing out the paleness of his skin and he was…smiling?

“At least buy me dinner first.”

* * *

 

Epilogoe (Three months later)

 

It was the first football match of the year and the first football match of Steve’s life. He had been surprised when Bucky had asked him to come, it wasn’t like their relationship was a secret or anything, more that they hadn’t actually told a lot of people.

Becca knew, obviously. Steve had met Bucky’s sister on New Year’s and she was just as amazing as Bucky had described her.

Sam knew, because “I’m studying psychology, I know this crap”, and also because he was Steve’s friend and had noticed the happy smile on Steve’s face the second he had come back to New York.

Peggy knew as well, and she was actually the first person Steve had called, the first person he had told, the first person to congratulate him, the first person to threaten Bucky not break Steve’s heart.

And then there were Bucky’s friends. The football team. Dum Dum, Gabe, Jim, James, and whatever the others’ names were. They had been surprisingly cool about it, surprisingly not surprised and Steve had had to bite back a smile at the baffled expression on Bucky’s face. The only one who had scoffed and sneered had been Hodge, a friend of Rumlow, Steve knew, but after a stern talk from Peggy he had kept his mouth shut.

And now Steve was sitting on the bleachers with Sam and his friends – who, during the last two or three months had also become Steve’s friends – cheering for their team, but mostly for Bucky who looked unfairly sexy in that stupid gear.

“Whoo, Rogers, your boy is smokin’!” Clint yelled, earning himself a reproaching look from his girlfriend Natasha but Steve didn’t care because _yeah…he kind of is…_

* * *

 

The match itself was nothing special, boring even. The other team wasn’t even half as good as them and winning was easy, despite the fact that Bucky had hardly paid any attention, had spent half the time giving himself a pep – talk for what he was about to do. He was nervous. Anxious. The last three months had been the best of Bucky’s life and he was tired of lying, of pretending. The people that mattered knew anyway.

The referee blew his whistle and the crowd erupted into cheers and screams but for once Bucky didn’t feel the usual pride that came with a won match, for once he didn’t smile and wave at all the girls admiring him. Dum Dum gave him an encouraging clap on his shoulder and knowing smile and Bucky jogged over to the bleachers, there in the first row, surrounded by his new friends sat Steven Grant Rogers, the biggest punk in New York, his hair was black with red tips, and he was wearing a shirt that proudly proclaimed ‘Too Queer To Care’, and Bucky loved him. Loved every damn inch and every stupid scar and all the ridiculous flaws and habits Steve had. Bucky’s heart was pounding his ears and he knew that people were watching him, wondering what he was doing, but he didn’t care, he walked up to Steve, searching his eyes, trying to let him know that _yes, I’m ready, I fucking love you, punk, and I want the whole world to know it_ – and then he kissed him. Right there in the faint spring sun, in front of half the college. There was a moment of stunned silence before they all broke out again, and there were more cheers and clapping and catcalls and someone was yelling “Get a fucking room!” which sounded an awful lot like Sam. And when they finally broke apart, Bucky was grinning so hard, his face was actually hurting and Steve was grinning back at him.

“You’re a fucking jerk.”

“I know.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'laoch' is the Irish word for 'warrior'
> 
> The quote I thought of as Steve's tattoo was this:  
> “But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.” (Breave New World - Aldous Huxley)
> 
> ***
> 
> Also: [Find me on Tumblr =)](https://dreamworldvictim.tumblr.com/)


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